#immortal hunter

[chaotic-orphan]

The Immortal Hunter (6)

Read part one here // continued from here

*~*~*~*~*

Heath didn’t leave Killian’s side for a week after Felix’s party. On the third day that Killian stepped outside his quaint cottage on the edge of town, he smiled, bemused at the vampire who lingered on the stone wall across from his house.

“Do vampires sleep?” Killian asked that morning. Heath nodded along, enjoying the conversations he had with the human. It had been a while since he let himself have a friend, let alone a human one.

“Yes. We can sleep. I enjoy sleeping, I just don’t need to do it. Vampires are crepuscular creatures anyways so we—”

“Crepe— what?”

Heath blinked. “Oh, sorry. We’re nocturnal. We sleep at day and wake up naturally at night for the hunt. The opposite to humans who sleep at night and wake during the day.”

Killian hummed. “Felix isn’t nocturnal,” he said quietly.

Heath’s haze hardened as they came up to the gates of Felix’s estate. “No. Felix is an exception to many rules.”

Felix raised an eyebrow when Heath opened the door of the state house, Killian following behind. His cat-like eyes drifted lazily to the clock, a minute before the start of Killian’s shift. Hmph.

Felix greeted them in his usual cheerful way. Killian nodded stiffly, responding politely before dismissing himself to get to work. That left Heath as the object of Felix’s attention.

“You seem to have taken a liking to my darling pet,” Felix told him with a smile.

“He’s your employee, not your pet.”

“Well, he’s not as fun as you were. You could do it all. Employee, human punching bag, entertainment, blood source.”

Heath bristled when Felix slung a lithe arm around his shoulders, guiding him into Felix’s study. It was a beautiful room, and Heath could see why Felix spent most of his time in here. The walls on either side were fitted with mahogany shelves, lined with at least two hundred titles, all of which Felix had read. Some that even Heath read after Felix taught him how.

Dark oak wooden floors boxed in the lush, burgundy carpet that ran the length of the floor; the middle strip where Felix’s cherrywood desk stood proud, commanding the space. Behind the desk was the giant gothic window that opened out into the grounds behind the house. Heath remembered when he was helping the stable hand attend to the horses, feeling eyes on him and looking up to see Felix observing him from his study window. His proud head held high, arms behind his back, and even from the vast distance Heath could still feel Felix’s hungry, predatory grin on his face.

“Whiskey, darling?” Felix asked, disentangling himself from Heath and walking over to his decanter beside the two armchairs off to the left of the room, near the exposed fireplace.

“Why not.” Heath said with a shrug, following him to the armchairs and settling into one, staring into the flames of the fire. “You can’t touch Killian, Felix,” Heath said, the fire dancing in the reflection of his eyes.

The vampire paused his movements for a brief moment, a cunning smile gracing his lips. “Mmm. I love it when you’re bossy.”

“I mean it,” Heath told him, taking the glass of whiskey with a pointed look. Felix ignored it as he sat in the other armchair, staring into the flames. “The Hunter is protective of him, and if you get between that… he’ll rip you apart.”

“As if you wouldn’t love that,” Felix purred. “Such a shame that you’re leaving us to return your green hills of old.”

Heath bristled, shifting to get more comfortable. He felt Felix’s cat like eyes on him, studying him, everything he did or didn’t do.

“Well… I think I might be sticking around for a bit.”

“For how long?” Felix didn’t give him the time to answer, humming to himself, swirling the honey-coloured liquid in his glass. “Wait, no. Let me guess. Around… 80 years?”

Heath took a sip instead of answering.

Felix laughed. “And if I turn him before then?” He asked, his voice low and sultry. Heath looked at the vampire, letting his emotions pass over his face. “I guess you’d have to stay around forever, love.”

“Don’t test me, Felix.”

“Oh come on. You just need a little blood in you. Then you’ll lighten up.” Felix said. “I have blood on tap if you want it.”

“I’m about two seconds away from ripping your throat out.”

Felix waved him away. “You old flirt, you. Though, we do have to discuss your living arrangements if you are to stay here with me.”

“I’ll find somewhere in the village.”

“Nonsense.”

“I’d rather not stay here, Felix.”

“Well… that just won’t do, will it?” Felix asked, his bright eyes basking in Heath’s attention. “I’ll tell you what, darling. Because we’re such old friends, and because I understand that that monster inside of you will protect Killian at all costs, I have a proposition for you.”

Heath scoffed, nostrils flaring, because he knew exactly what Felix’s propositions were. Heath turned his eyes back to the flames, wondering vaguely if setting himself on fire would hurt less than whatever evil Felix had concocted in his mind. “Is this one I can refuse?”

“Of course, love. I’m not unreasonable. You always had a choice.”

Heath downed the rest of the liquid in his glass, savouring the burn in the back of his throat. “Alright.”

“I won’t touch a pretty little hair on Killian’s head, he will be the most protected human in the village. I’ll even spare his little family my wrath too.”

Heath nodded. “Okay.”

“But you have to understand, that that would mean I would be extremely bored, and you know how I get when I’m bored… so either, wow, look at me. Giving you options aren’t I so generous? The years have made me soft, Heath. Or maybe that was just your effect on me.”

“Either?…” Heath echoed, imploringly. Felix exposed his fangs over his lips, knowing he had Heath right where he wanted him.

Felix kissed his teeth, tsking Heath lightly as he stepped around to the back of Heath’s chair, slinking his arms over Heath possessively.

“You’re no fun, darling,” he said with a playful pout, lips beside Heath’s ear. Heath raised a hand, wrapping his fingers around Felix’s wrist, trying to dislodge the touchy vampire from him, but Felix just clamped down harder around Heath. “And you forget, I’m stronger than you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to Heath’s temple.

Heath huffed out a breath. “Either?” Heath repeated, defeated.

“Either, you take up your old position for me, in place of Killian. You provide me with all the joy and entertainment you used to before,” Felix murmured, smiling when he felt Heath shiver under him at the mention of entertainment. “Come back under contract for me, and work for me again…”

Felix trailed off, running a hand through Heath’s hair and pulling his head back and to the side, grazing his fangs along Heath’s throat. “Or you go out and you enthral a sweet little human for me to play with while you protect poor little Killian.”

Heath stiffened under Felix, his grip turning white knuckled on the glass. The sound of glass cracking punctured the silence between them until Felix tutted and Heath relaxed his grip.

“That’s—” Heath stuttered. “You know that’s not even an option.”

“But it is, love. I’ve always given you the choice.”

“The illusion of choice,” Heath spat, his words coated with a helpless venom. Felix’s free hand roamed to Heath’s chest over where his heart used to beat.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I’m making concessions too. It’s so much more fun to terrify humans, the taste of their fear, the pounding of blood.” Felix tightened his hand over Heath’s heart, puncturing his chest with his claws. Heath jerked forward with a hiss, but Felix pulled him gently back. “Though I’m sure I could make do with having you by my side again. You always were my favourite, you know.”

If Heath had a heart, he knew it would be racing a drumbeat in his chest. His lungs would tighten in his chest, pulsing against his ribs at the panic that threatened to overwhelm him at Felix’s generous offer.

“And if I refuse?”

Felix sighed against Heath, nuzzling his nose into Heath’s throat. “Then I’d have to use Killian in your place.”

Heath froze under Felix. Felix’s fangs traced a line down Heath’s throat, already knowing what Heath was going to choose.

“I hate you.”

“I know, little one.”

Heath’s fingers curled into fists, useless. He knew coming back here was a bad idea, a terrible idea, but to think that Felix would trap him again like this? He got out, why did he come back?! Why!

“We make a blood pact,” Heath demanded, tightening his free hand into a fist on the armchair.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, darling.” Heath’s breath hitched as Felix’s fang drew a bead of blood in his throat. “Can I take that as a yes?”

Heath deflated in the armchair. He swallowed thickly.

“Yes.”

Felix hummed, delighted and sank his fangs into Heath’s throat. Heath bucked against him, trying to dislodge the ancient vampire from his neck, but Felix held him down with ease as if Heath still had the strength of a human. Heath hated the way he could feel Felix’s fangs draw the limited blood from his system, weakening him the more he drank.

Felix moaned happily against Heath, drinking every last drop with all the greed he wanted to. Heath was a vampire, he wouldn’t die if he was drained dry. Felix didn’t know why he didn’t think of this before. All the worries and limitations of humans could be mitigated with a vampire slave.

It was only when Heath let out a small keening whine that Felix pulled away, licking the wounds to seal them and stop Heath bleeding out. He didn’t even have to do that, it was more like a reflex than anything else.

Heath’s vision blurred, feeling lightheaded as Felix pulled away. He dropped the glass to the floor, which Felix caught before it hit the ground. The vampire set the two glasses on a table between the armchairs, smiling at Heath who was glaring weakly up at him through half lidded eyes. The venom must still have an effect on Heath’s body. Something Felix noted and stored away in the back of his mind.

“Oh, look at you,” Felix cooed, booping Heath on the nose. “Still as adorable as the first day I found you.”

“Fuh—ck you.”

“Still as feisty too.”

Heath tried to sit up, but his body felt as if it was cemented down to the chair in lead. Fuck. He hadn’t felt this powerless since… since he couldn’t remember when. He watched through half-lidded eyes as Felix cut a line over his wrist and Heath tried to push himself forward to reach the vampires arm. He had to drink Felix’s blood for the pact to be binding, to protect Killian if Heath agreed to be Felix’s fucking slave again.

Felix held his wrist out of Heath’s reach, his bright eyes shining as he watched Heath struggle and pant against Felix’s venom. “Come on, Heath. Just a little further,” he coaxed.

Heath shook his head, trying to shake off the numbness that kept his body still as the grave. He grunted with the effort, slamming his eyes shut as he moved forward, the world spinning as he fought against the compulsion to keep him docile.

“Come on, Heath,” Felix taunted. “Don’t you want to save that poor human’s miserable existence?”

Heath finally grabbed Felix’s arm at the elbow, pulling it down towards his mouth. Just before his fangs lowered, however, the wound healed and Heath glared up at the ancient vampire unimpressed.

A cold hand stroked Heath’s jaw. “Come on, darling. We both know it’s more fun to just take what you want.”

Heath swallowed, and bite Felix’s wrist, his fangs sinking deep into the flesh and drawing the old, recycled blood from Felix’s wrist. The blood tasted putrid and wrong, but Felix practically moaned above Heath as he pulled more and more blood from the vampire’s body.

A hand wound itself tightly through Heath’s hair and yanked back suddenly, pulling Heath off of Felix with a gasp. He coughed and spluttered, trying to get the horrible, acrid taste from his mouth, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand. Heath glared up at Felix who grinned, showing his fangs down at Heath.

“Good,” Felix murmured, thumbing away a drop of blood that was dripping down the corner of Heath’s mouth. “Now, dear. Only one thing left to do,” he said, and sliced his left palm, the gash going deep. Before Heath could protest Felix grabbed his wrist and did the same, before joining their hands together.

Heath hissed as he could feel the pact take hold between them, burning through his palm to the back of his hand. Tendrils of black ink-like blood traced a beautiful pattern from the back of his hand, up his arm and locking like barbed wire over his heart. He lurched forward, clutching his chest with his free hand, trying to pull his hand back from Felix’s, but Felix clamped his fingers down around Heath’s until the process was complete.

The ink-like blood seeped into Heath’s skin, burning all the way through until he was a sweaty, trembling mess, his hands still held by Felix’s. Felix’s hand burned with the same pattern, except the colour of the blood on his arm was a garish, scar-like white. The intricacies of the deal, the covenant, the contract, were scrolled onto each of their skin in the old tongue, a reminder of what they had promised each other.

When it was finished, Felix dropped Heath’s hand and studied the strange glowing contract on his arm. “Wonderful. Now, all done. It wasn’t that bad, now was it?”

Heath didn’t answer. He didn’t even have the energy to glare at the vampire. He shut his eyes against the pain that lingered like dancers following the brand up his arm. Heath’s breath hitched as he felt Felix’s cold hands were on his forehead. His fingers gently moving the sweaty strands out of the vampire’s face so he could see every twinge of pain, every after effect of the blood pact on the once human thing.

“That almost killed you, darling boy,” Felix said with barely contained glee behind the words. “You really would risk anything for a foolish human.”

Heath didn’t have to energy to fight back, but he couldn’t deny that Felix’s cold hands felt so nice on his forehead, and he leaned into the touch like a cat would a human.

“Oh, my sweet boy. I think we should get you to bed, hmm? I don’t you fainting on your first day back in my service, oh all the things we will do together, Heath.”

Heath groaned as Felix wrapped an arm around him and pulled him out of the comfortable chair, letting him lean all his weight onto the ancient vampire. “There you go, sweet boy. Oh I could just eat you when you’re like this.”

“Fuck— off,” Heath whined as Felix walked them out of the study and towards the foyer. The backdoor opened to their left and in walked a quick-stepping vampire, pulling garden gloves off her hands and smiling when she saw Felix and Heath. Then she smelled the blood, and suddenly Celeste was in front of the pair, red eyes locked on Heath’s.

“What happened?” She asked, her voice breathless. She saw the bite marks on his throat and her gaze cut into Felix. “What did you do?” She hissed, bearing her fangs at him.

Felix smiled an easy smile. “We made a deal, didn’t we Heathy?”

Celeste’s eyes went back to Heath, softening at the edges. She put her hands on his cheeks, tilting his head to look at her. “You idiot.”

“I know,” Heath said with a breath, closing his eyes at her soft touch. He didn’t want to see the pity in her face, but she would understand when he told her later. She would understand and curse Felix and kiss him and everything would be okay.

“If you’ll excuse us, darling, the boy’s a bit drained. I’m taking him to bed.” Felix said. Heath could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke, so proud to have Heath under his thumb again. God. He was such an idiot.

“I’ll take him,” Celeste said immediately.

“Nonsense,” Felix replied already walking forwards, dragging Heath along with him. “I’ll be down shortly.”

Heath smiled at Celeste’s protests, his heart would’ve beamed at her care and love, but Felix was older than both of them, and older meant stronger, and Heath didn’t want the guilt of having Celeste hurt because of his foolishness, so he was happy that she remained in the hall, watching the pair as Felix helped Heath up the stairs.

Heath stopped in the room he and Celeste were sleeping in, but Felix dragged him on, further down the hall. “Felix, where’re—”

“Hush, dear boy. Just let me worry about everything, you shouldn’t trouble your pretty little head about it.”

Heath swallowed, trying to straighten in Felix’s hold and dig his heels into the carpet, but Felix pulled him along, all the way down to the door at the end of the hall. Felix’s room. Heath’s heart leapt into his throat, as he struggled against Felix’s venom injecting weakness through every inch of his body.

He hadn’t been in Felix’s room since he was human. It was the last place Heath was human, and it’s not a place he’d like to revisit, or filled with happy memories. It felt as if Felix had taken a knife and plunged it into Heath’s gut, twisting the metal as he opened the door and Heath was greeted with the familiar scent of the vampire.

It wasn’t like Felix ever did anything untoward to Heath when he was human, but he had a very strange possessiveness about him that Heath knew humans just didn’t. Some nights, when Felix didn’t leave Heath in his own room, or in the basement in chains for misbehaving, Felix would bring Heath into his room, into his bed, and cuddle him like he was a teddy bear.

It was so foreign a touch, so strange and upsetting. Felix would wrap Heath in blankets until he couldn’t move his limbs enough to cause any real trouble and cuddle him the entire night, his arms like iron chains wrapped around his entire body. He remembered not sleeping initially and Felix noticing this, and that was worse.

Felix would talk to him then, or sing softly in his ear. Or he’d drain him until Heath passed out, and eventually Heath learned to just sleep as quickly as he could before the vampire tried to do any of the other things to try and get Heath to sleep.

“Felix, please, let me sleep in my room,” he begged, his voice coming out high and whining. “Please.”

“We’re here now, darling, don’t worry. Here, sit down there,” Felix said, setting Heath down on the side of Felix’s bed. Heath gripped the edge of the bed, the soft duvet bunching under his hands.

“You did this… on purpose,” Heath huffed out, the world swimming in a mixture of colours that made him feel sick. Felix appeared in front of him again, taking a knee in front of the immortal hunter and grinning up at him.

“Did what?” He asked feigning innocence and tilting his head as he worked on unlacing and removing Heath’s shoes. Heath closed his eyes, trying to stop the world from turning but it didn’t stop the wooziness in his head. He groaned and shot a hand out, grabbing the poster of Felix’s canopy bed. “Oh, pet.”

“I’m not your pet,” Heath seethed, eyes flashing open. That was a mistake. Felix moved with unnatural speed, scooping Heath up in his arms and depositing him in the middle of the ridiculously big and comfortable bed.

Felix grabbed the duvet and pulled it up, tucking Heath into the bed. “Now, surely, I don’t have to stay with you, do I? Or tie you down so you don’t try and get up, hurting yourself.”

Heath shivered at the thought. “No,” he said weakly. Felix beamed.

“Wonderful. I’ll be downstairs when you feel better.” Felix leaned in, pressing a kiss to Heath’s temple. Heath turned away, but Felix just carded his hands through Heath’s hair. “I’m so happy you’re back, darling. I really have missed you. It’ll be just like the old days.”

Heath suppressed the whine of protest, opting to just stay silent and let the vampire just do whatever he wanted until he was satisfied and left. “Just call my name when you wake, sweet boy. I’ll come get you.”

Yeah right, Heath thought, but he just said: “okay.”

Felix beamed down at him, smile exposing his fangs and then he left. The heavy door shut and Heath flinched when he heard the sound of the lock. The bastard locked him in? Fuck. Felix told him once that he had made his house vampire proof.

Dramatic things, us vampires, he had told Heath one night when Heath was struggling to sleep in Felix’s bed, shivering against the monster. We like to break things and doors and furniture to make a point, so I made this manor vampire proof. Well, as much as possible. Ancient ones like myself could still destroy this place, but normal vamps? They may as well be human in this place.

So Heath would have to call Felix to come and get him when he woke up. Great. Perfect. Right now, Heath was exhausted and he just wanted to sleep. He could deal with Felix when he wakes up, hopefully after the venom leaves his system. Sleep came easily, his last thoughts were warm: at least, he thinks as darkness grabs him in its comforting grip, at least I saved Killian and his family from eternal torment.

[patchworkorphan]

The Immortal Hunter: part one

Heath stalked up the marble steps to the ostentatious mansion. The annual masquerade party was in full swing, the smell of blood permeating the air was intoxicating, and for a moment just outside the open doors Heath hesitated. Slowly closing his hands into fists and opening them again. It occurred to him that he could leave, and the idea was all too enticing.

Maybe coming here was a mistake.

“May I take your jacket, sir?” Heath looked at the servant and was glad for the red mask obscuring part of his face, it would make the night go smoother.

Though the servant wore a full faced decorated mask, through the eye holes Heath’s maroon eyes met blue ones staring back at him.

Human. Interesting.

“That’s quite alright, thank you.”

“Of course, Mr Cain. Mr Felix has been expecting you and would like a private audience as soon as you have mingled.”

“Would he now?” Heath asked, going to stand beside the servant leaning against the wall and pulling out a metal case of cigarettes.

He clicked his fingers lighting the cigarette between his teeth and took a drag, as he watched the boy from the corner of his eyes.

“What’s your name?” He asked, and the boy hesitated.

“Forgive me, Mr Cai –”

“You can call me Heath.”

“Of course. Forgive me, Heath, but with all due respect you’re a vampire… if I tell you my name- well, I’ve heard the stories.”

Heath let out a snort of laughter, looking at the boy plainly now.

“Smart boy.”

“In this line of work, I have to be.”

Heath smiled, taking a long drag then offering the cigarette to the boy.

“Do you smoke?”

“No sir.”

“Good lad. Smart lad,” Heath said genuinely, then cocked a brow. “Not smart enough to be as far as possible from a vamp party, though?”

The boy swallowed and looked away from Heath’s penetrating stare.

“What do you owe Felix?”

“Umm…”

“You don’t reek of any thrall,” Heath began, exhaling a lungful of smoke into the cool night air. “Which either means you’re in debt –”

The servant hesitated. “The party is in full swing inside, sir.”

“I’m aware,” Heath said easily, humour lacing his voice. “Full of loathful bloodsuckers like me who eat people like you. So, either- you’re one of Victor’s pets waiting to be turned, which I’m guessing not because you knew not to tell me your name… Or you owe him something. Feel free to correct me.”

The servant said nothing for a moment. Then faltered. A dip of the head. Then back to their rigid posture, head held high.

“Family?”

“How –”

“It’s always family that fucks you. Whether you like them or not,” Heath said, throwing the cigarette to the floor. Crushing it beneath his shoe. “You live a few centuries; you see the same mistakes. I’m not saying your family isn’t worth it. I’m just saying, there will be no thanks for your sacrifice. For the years you give up.”

“You say that as if you know from experience.”

Heath smiled again, winking at the servant. “Like I said, smart boy.”

With that Heath pushed off the wall, fixing his suit jacket and mask before turning to the servant, extending a hand.

“If all goes well, I hope I never see you again,” he said, and the boy looked as if he had just solved all his problems. Like his words had somehow lifted an invisible weight from his shoulders.

“I hope so too.”

Heath nodded, taking a deep breath before breaching the doors of the building.

*~*~*~*~*

“Ah, if it isn’t Chaos himself, hmm?” Heath turned and saw the familiar face of an elegant woman strutting towards him. Wicked grin painted in red, hair immaculate as always and delicate hands outstretched to greet him.

Heath took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Celeste, is it me or do you get more gorgeous with the centuries?”

“Oh darling, it’s not just you. I age like a fine wine.”

Heath chuckled, letting her lead him through the crowds of blood drunk vampires and love drunk fools who let the vampires tap them like maples.

“When did you get back?” she asked over her shoulder, her sultry tones carried like the word of God on a breeze, making music in his ears as they walked.

“I’m not back,” said Heath, eyes scanning the room for the reason he was here at all. “Just visiting Victor.”

Celeste laughed her beautiful laugh, both scathing and genuine at once.

“What’s so funny?” Heath asked, the Irish accent leaking out when he got defensive.

Celeste turned to Heath then, a manicured hand on his chest as she said with knowing eyes, “everyone knows what Just visiting for you means. No one can seem to get you out of that – oh what is it called again?”

“Ireland.”

“Just the same who seems to have captured your heart. Normally you have to be dragged away,” her eyes narrowed as she looked at his lips. “Just what could it be that’s piqued your interest this time?”

Heath smiled his dazzling smile at her and took her hand in his. “Can’t you just say it’s good to see me?”

“It’s good to see you,” a new voice said. Both Celeste and Heath looked to the left to see the host of tonight’s festivities.

Victor Felix stood to their left, a wine glass of blood in one hand, the familiar hint of a smirk on the corner of his quirked lip. He was dressed in a velvet navy suit, a purple cravat tucked into his wine waistcoat that matched his wine domino mask that had horns growing from the top. The devil himself.

“Felix!” Heath exclaimed, stepping out of Celeste’s arms and went to kiss each of Felix’s cheeks.

“Mio vecchio amico, it’s been too long.”

“Too long indeed.”

“We were just discussing his absence in favour of the Emerald Isle,” Celeste added walking towards the pair, her hand extended to Felix who took it and pressed a kiss to her now gloved knuckles.

“Celeste, gorgeous as always.”

Celeste just hummed, stepping back to be in line with Heath. Heath threw an easy arm around her waist keeping her close as he shot a megawatt smile at Felix.

“How have you been, Victor?” Heath asked, smile only half forced.

“I’ve been… busy,” Felix replied, looking between Celeste and Heath with golden eyes. “Where are my manners, dear boy, you don’t even have a drink! Waiter!”

A waiter appeared in less than a second, with a tray of wine glasses half full of blood. Heath took one, holding it at his side. Celeste took one too with a smile and a thank you, before taking a sip. Felix watched the exchange with calculating eyes, that same amused smile now shining in his eyes.

“I met your boy outside,” Heath said casually, and Felix looked towards him, daring him to continue. “Smart boy.”

“He is,” said Felix bringing the glass to his lips. He paused right before he took a sip, stare cutting through Heath’s and said, “reminds me of you way back when.”

“I was just about to say the same thing. Do you plan on turning him?”

Felix shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Perhaps. It’s always good to keep the sharp ones, Heath. Speaking of… I have a friend I’d like to introduce you to.”

“Do ya now?”

Felix let out a short breath of a laugh, as if there was a joke that Heath wasn’t privy to. “I do. He even asked for you by name.”

“What an honour.”

“You boys are so boring,” said Celeste, stepping out of Heath’s hold. She placed a hand on Heath’s cheek bringing him down into a short, sweet kiss and said, “come find me after you’re done doing business at a party.”

“Of course,” said Heath. Celeste looked back at Felix then.

“Don’t keep him too long,” she ordered, and Felix nodded. Then Celeste turned and disappeared into the crowd once again.

Heath looked to Felix who turned and walked into the crowd, expecting Heath to follow, so Heath did. Through winding crowds, occasionally stopping to greet someone, or someone stopping them to greet Heath and welcome him back.

“It’s good to be home, no?” Felix commented as he led him to the back of the ballroom out towards the gardens. Heath kept his head up, eyes forward.

“I’ve made my own home Felix. It was never here.”

“You wound me. After everything I’ve done for you,” Felix said with a pantomime pout.

“That boy. Outside, the human –”

Felix stopped, stepping in front of Heath, a cruel glint in his eyes. “Let me guess. You’re going to beg me not to turn him.”

Heath shrugged. “Yeah.”

“And what would you do for me?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to stop you from making the same mistake twice.”

Felix hummed, starting to walk again to the balcony overlooking the garden. When they got to the edge, Heath leaned his forearms over the rail looking out over the green expanse below. The garden was his favourite part of Felix’s mansion. It was the one place that was peaceful. When he was human, it was his brief reprieve from Felix and his orders, out in nature with the animals and the insects, the smell of the flowers calmed him. With his vampire senses, everything was too much, and the garden became too bright, too beautiful, too smelly.

“You wouldn’t like a little brother?”

“He wouldn’t like an older one more like,” said Heath taking a sip of the blood. Tastebuds tingling with iron. It was fresh. Heath hadn’t drunk fresh blood in so long.

Felix put his back to the railing looking at Heath from the corner of his eye. “I did miss you, you know,” he said quietly. “Even if you didn’t miss me.”

“Who is this person that wants to meet me? Have you been telling stories about me again?” Heath asked without missing a beat.

Felix cleared his throat, taking a sip of his drink looking back into the ballroom. “His name is Wolfe. Ah, and here he comes.”

Heath turned as Felix stepped away, going to greet Wolfe. He was tall. That was the first thing that struck Heath, that he was tall, taller than Felix. But where Felix was slim, Wolfe was broad. He was muscled to the point of being ripped under his white collared shirt and waist coat. A half smile was on his lips, stubble lined his strong square jaw that went up into his hair line where shoulder length purposefully messy hair lay perfect.

He also wasn’t wearing a mask, Heath noted, eyes narrowing slightly. A loose tie hung around his neck untied, a mask in one hand and his drink in the other.

“Felix,” his voice rumbled smooth. “It’s been too long, mate.”

English accent. Northern. That’s about as much as Heath could discern before Felix led the hulking stranger over.

His eyes were a piercing, opaque grey colour that sent Heath’s mind reeling. He listened for a heartbeat but heard none and when Wolfe outstretched his hand Heath took it robotically and felt no warmth. No pulse of blood. Yet his eyes were grey.

“You must be Cain, Felix’s boy, yes?”

“I’m Heath,” said Heath. Not friendly and not unfriendly. “You’re English.”

“Very astute. You’re Irish.”

“For the weather I am.”

Wolfe let out a booming hearty laugh, hand tightening around Heath’s with mirth. He cupped his other hand around Heath’s and pulled him in close for a hug. Wolfe swamped Heath’s frame, his strength unnatural even for a vampire and for the first time in a long time… Heath was scared.

“Good, good. The weather is shit in our parts, innit?”

“Never any sun to contend with,” Heath laughed, but at the joke or the fact that Wolfe finally released him he didn’t know.

Wolfe’s face levelled into a happy neutral expression. The same expression he walked up to them with. “Sorry about the mask, I didn’t want to greet you without you knowing what I look like.”

Heath glanced at Felix and nearly hated himself for it. Looking to Felix for a command. An order. A silent question. Does he need to take his off too? Heath decided against it because he could, because he was his own man. He didn’t need Felix to tell him what to do anymore.

“Felix told me you’re young. What is it? A couple decades?”

Heath opened his mouth, but it was Felix who answered. “He’s 149.”

Heath shot Felix a look, but Felix just smiled back like a proud father.

“Barely out of your fledgling days!” Wolfe laughed.

“Or maybe you’re just ancient,” Heath said twisting his lips into a smile. He could do this. Don’t show any fear. Play it up. It’s fine.

Wolfe laughed again, some ancient knowing settling into his eyes as he said, “maybe.”

Heath couldn’t hold the stare long, glancing at Felix beside Wolfe instead. “Felix said you wanted to chat with me?”

“Yes. I do. If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Not at all, what about?”

Wolfe fixed Heath with a pinning stare, his grey eyes enthralling Heath just a little bit to keep his attention and for a moment Heath felt his feeble humanity humming in the back of his mind. That primal fear of predator watching prey. The same look Felix set on him when he decided he didn’t want Heath to leave him.

“The immortal hunter.”

Those three words hammered through Heath’s skull, and if his heart still beat, he’s sure it would’ve beat faster at Wolfe’s confident words issued through a cool, casual tone that demanded Heath’s attention with those cold grey eyes.

Heath looked at Felix, mouth open, looking like an idiot and Felix tilted his head – a smile on his lips watching Heath squirm before stepping closer to Heath, and Heath could have preened at the familiarity of his sire so close even after he broke the bond.

“Felix told me you had history with it,” Wolfe continued, his voice a low rumbling drawl, smooth as gravel and gentle like a lion just before it was about to prance. Wolfe tilted his head regarding Heath with inquisitive eyes. “And with the old blood. The ancient blood, of course, that’s what enticed Felix to you in the first place I’m guessing.”

Wolfe glanced at Felix then. “I can still smell it on him, even after he’s turned- what was it, 140 years or so? That ancient blood is always tricky. Especially for a fledgling.”

“I’m not a fledgling anymore.”

“Not to you, perhaps,” said Wolfe eyes going back to Heath. “But when you live as long as Felix and me, a century is nothing but a blink of an eye.”

“So, what do you want with the immortal hunter?”

“Isn’t it obvious, dear boy?”

Heath’s hand tightened harder on his glass. “Obviously not.”

Wolfe hummed, bringing the glass to his lips, and swallowing a gulp of blood. Then he smiled showing his teeth and the blood staining his lips and canines nearly made Heath sick.

Wolfe looked at Felix. “I forgot how impetuous the youth of yesterday can be.”

Felix shrugged, “it can be fun to get them in line.”

“You have the patience of a saint, Felix,” then his eyes slid back to Heath, void of the humour it had been full of before. “I, however, do not.”

Wolfe took a step towards Heath and Heath took one back, his lower back pressing into the rail trapping him, with Felix on his left caging him in.

He felt so small. So weak, so human.

“We should chat, Cain. After everyone is gone, perhaps? Are you staying with Felix while you’re here?”

“No,” Heath said at the same time Felix said, “Yes.”

Wolfe grinned, a big hand clamping down hard on Heath’s shoulder. The grip turned bruising, but Heath didn’t wince. He didn’t flinch. He kept Wolfe’s cruel stare, even when Wolfe’s claws penetrated flesh and cut through his shoulder.

“I like you, Cain,” Wolfe said, withdrawing his hand. He put his mask on finally, and it felt like Heath could finally breathe again.

Wolfe looked at Felix then, “I’ll stay here too if you have a room.”

“Of course,” said Felix his eyes on Heath again. “Don’t disappear on us now, Heath.”

Heath said nothing as he pushed passed Felix, his mind swimming as he stalked back into the ballroom, downing the glass of blood before looking for Celeste. He needed to calm down and she was the only one who could soothe his nerves right now.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued Here

[duckysprouts]

au where killing dracula doesn’t eradicate all vampires and jonathan keeps his promise to mina of being a vampire too so that she doesn’t have to be alone.

100 years later they are hunting down the rest of the vampires and being old even tho they look like they should be at the club

[ettle]

I feel like no one remembers the immortal snail thing was from Roosterteeth. No one remembers their herstory.

[rayveneyed]

cw: sexually explicit content / blood / relatively light sadomasochism / age + experience gap (reader is older + more experienced) / sub!choso / vampires 🧛‍♀️ / sex and violence as two sides of the same coin /

choso kamo is 160 years old when he meets you.

in those years of walking the earth, undead, he believes he’s embraced his vampirism as much as he possibly can. the broiling self-hatred he had once found solace in has reduced to a simmer, strongest in those moments of blood and guts and weakening heartbeats; and although he often avoids crowds, and companionship, and light, he no longer believes himself to be a slave of his own nature.

to be true — in the grand scheme of immortality, of vampirism — he isn’t anywhere close to the level of control he’d wish to have. often, when indulging yuji’s desire to enjoy the world as he did before his death — boardwalks and arcades and cotton candy — he feels his canines aching in his gums, stretching until they dimple against his bottom lip.

it’s not comfortable. it’s not confident. but even despite the growing aches, he’s no longer cowering in alleyways; no longer drinking from poor stray cats and garbage-chewing rats to momentarily satiate that ever-growing, gnawing hunger. he has some sense of control—

“oh, you baby-bats. so adorable.”

control which he now flounders to grab.

a sharp, inky black nail scrapes up the column of his neck — he can’t help but arch into it, head tilting back until his wide, pupil-blown eyes find the ceiling, with its intricate coving and obsidian chandeliers. the music from the main hall is nothing but a buzzing in the back of his head; thoughts of his friends’ whereabouts, an afterthought. your fingernail crowds the underneath of his jaw and stops at where his pulse point would have thrummed, would he have been alive.

you’re a demon. a devil. a she-beast. a succubus. any horrid, terrible name he could call you, he will — dressed in blacks and burgundies and gold older than him, your lips painted an ox-blood red and your eyes as sharp and dark as any polished knife. in your hands he is small. weak. mortal.

“satoru usually keeps his strays away, after last time,” you say, pouting now, though it’s a crude approximation of sadness — even now, your eyes glint with devilment. “so mean, when he knows i have a weak spot for bats like you.”

that wretched finger stretches up; pokes at his bottom lip, scrapes against the fangs that had — embarrassingly — extended from his gums at the simple weight of you on top of him.

“look at that,” you coo, and your grin is something unsettling, something that curdles in the pit of his stomach and heats between his legs. “excited, pup?”

his answering breath comes ragged, and it’s always more embarrassing than it was when he was human. his heart doesn’t work, his lungs do not work, and he has no need to breathe — in fact, he lost the reflex to do so around 92 years ago — but his brain is scrambled, it seems, wilted neurons confusing signals from almost two centuries ago. “i’m — ahem — i’m okay, duchess.”

“how sweet. you don’t have to call me by my title, you know. my name will do just fine.” at his silence, you push yourself up from where you’d been laying low against his chest — looking far too excited when you say: “unless, of course, you like it.”

his hands tremble at his side. he can’t remember the last time he’s indulged in — in debauchery. the last time someone’s made him feel like they’re holding his heart in their hands. over the past hundred-odd years, he’s avoided it like the plague, and for good reason — most vampires aren’t known for their commitment, let’s just say. and now you’re on top of him looking like every sin he’s tried to avoid, and he’s straining so hard in his pants he fears he’ll cum before you even hint at removing a single article of clothing.

you press yourself flush again, nosing at his neck. he knows, for the first time in his long life, what it feels like to be prey. is this what his victims had felt when he ripped into their throats, young and inexperienced and bloodthirsty? did their vulnerability sit like a stone in their throats?

a groan comes from you, suddenly, and your tongue darts out to lave against his skin. choso’s answering moan is more of a whimper, broken and weak in his mouth, but you don’t seem to notice — or care. he flexes his glutes in an effort to stop himself from rutting up against you — not only would it be embarrassing, desperate, but it would be rude. this is your house, after all. your soirée. your gilded halls and bedazzled walls. your silk sheets against his back. your satin skirt bunched around your waist.

“tell me, pup,” you say, and he fights the instinctual reflex to shiver at the brush of your lips against his skin, “have you ever fed from our own?”

“hm?” it’s a sound of confusion brought half on by his simple lack of knowledge, and half on by his slow-processing brain. only seconds after does he fully register your question, and the eyes he hadn’t realised he had screwed shut flew open. “no. i — i didn’t know that was possible.”

all at once, you’re sitting up again — swinging your leg over his hips until you’re standing. it wouldn’t be right to call it clambering — you are impossibly graceful, even passed the agility and elegance that comes with the gift of the undead. his hands reach for you before he can stop them, a sound like a question on his tongue, and you send him the sweetest, most tooth-rotting, stomach-turning smile. he thinks he likes your biting, cruel grins more, though you’re lovely regardless.

you begin to reach for the ties of your corset at your spine — just another thing that makes his mouth water. people didn’t wear these sorts of clothes anymore, not in the human world. but he remembers the skirts and corsets from paintings of noblewomen hundreds of years ago, and how he’d admire the curve of their waists, the swell of their chests—

“of course, satoru wouldn’t tell you. why would he?”

his eyes snap up from your chest, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. but you don’t seem to mind. the corset is removed painfully slowly, for no other reason than to torture him; then, the outer dress, with its carmine satin and intricate embroidery. you throw it to the floor carelessly, as if the most knowledgeable museum curators wouldn’t prostrate themselves at your feet for the simple chance to display it for millions to see — a while his eyes drink up the sight of more skin, the whisper of form beneath your underdress and bloomers, you near him once more.

metal to a magnet, a moth to flame, he pulls himself to the edge of the bed. you find a place between his legs and grasp his chin, and choso can’t look away from you.

“i can take you apart and put you back together,” you say — promise — voice like crushed velvet, quiet and creeping like a choking vine. your thumb smooths over his cheek and ends at its apple, where you press the sharp tip of your nail into his flesh. “i can show you the pleasures of your eternal life, and its pains, and everything in between. i can bring you to every edge, and draw you back from them just as quick — and it will be painful, and you’ll enjoy it so much you won’t be able to go another day without it.”

he’s lost the ability to speak. his unmoving heart is in his throat — or in your hands, or between your sharp teeth. you tilt your head and regard him with knowing, twinkling eyes.

“all you have to say, pup, is yes.”

oh, it’s out of him so quick he can hardly keep up — a word so breathy you’d swear you’d already had your way with him. but embarrassment is a thing of the past when your smile stretches, and you murmur marvellous. you release him from your grasp, much to his chagrin, but when you begin pulling down your bloomers his attention shifts.

he can smell you. smell you. the musky, salty scent of between your legs — a smell that has his mouth watering and his fingers cramping from how hard he fists the sheets. your bloomers are damp when you discard them, sticky with your arousal, and pride glows in choso’s chest. he didn’t do much, but it seemed enough — if he had only let himself lose control, hump up against you harder, perhaps it would’ve stained his clothes; seeped through your layers and onto his lap. he’d go home and hold it over his nose until the scent faded, and perhaps after.

“new as you are,” you say, climbing onto your bed once more and reclining back against the numerous pillows — huffing a mean-sounding laugh when he crawls after you. “i’ll do you the mercy of taking it easy, just this once. oh, don’t make that face — you look like a kicked puppy. i promise you’ll enjoy what i have in store for you.”

and you hike up your underdress, and spread your legs. choso’s mouth waters — the thick smattering of hair on your mons, your flower-like labia, shiny with your arousal. and your clit, peeking out from its hood, pink and shiny and begging to have his mouth on it. but as if this wasn’t enough — as if he wasn���t already scrabbling to get between your legs — you take one of those long, sharp nails, and drag it against your inner thigh. the skin splits. blood trickles down from the wound like a river of gold, flowing into the crease between your thighs and your pussy, and it smells ambrosial. if his fangs were aching before, they’re screaming, now. this isn’t human blood; this is richer, sweeter, creamier. delectable. hedonistic. you’ll make a glutton of him.

“after all,” you say, grinning wickedly, “i’m treating you to a most delectable meal.”

[queen-of-wisdom]

When the "I survived heinous trauma" character and the "And I didn't" character love each other

[shadowcatzone]

also imagine the astral express' and stellaron hunters' joint mission and the only script blade gets is "stay with the group" and halfway through he just falls over and sleeeeeps.

And the astral express (specifically dan heng) look on in mild concern (and horror) while kafka just grabs him by a foot and drags him along.

I don't know how strong dan heng is but like, also imagine everyone volunteering him to carry the (dead asleep) former craftsman.

[sleepingdeath-light]

TOH WITH A IMMORTAL READER!

Okay so this wasn’t a specific request or anything so I’m just going to answer here with how I think each character would cope with having an immortal significant other. This got very long as I included basically everyone that’s on my masterlist… oops!

Also, to reiterate, these are just my thoughts so they’re very biased towards how I interpret the characters — and your relationship with the characters can be romantic or queer-platonic or similar depending on your preference!

Thoughts below the cut!

Adrian Graye-Vernworth

doesn’t even remotely believe you at first and will probably assume you’re joking. but once he does recognise your honesty then he’ll probably have something of a breakdown for a while and step back from your relationship — equal parts jealous of the life you’ve lived and horrified at the idea of just being a blip on the radar of your infinite life. it’s 50/50 whether this is a dealbreaker for him and he’ll either slowly inch back into your relationship or just break up with you because of the stress.

Alador Blight

alador is mostly neutral to your immortality when it comes to your relationship. like he’ll call on you for a second opinion when he’s working on something and will draw on your experience to further help his fellow witches — but he doesn’t really think about it any beyond that. though he does sometimes worry about you and how you’ll cope when he’s gone (because he knows that losing you would break him).

Amity Blight

when you tell her it’s quite the shock to the system and she doesn’t really know what to say or how to react. she’ll freeze up and you can see her thinking as she considers her response before she finally squeezes your hands and thanks you for telling her. she’d want to stay with you and wouldn’t want to break up, but she’d definitely have a few crises over the fact that you’ve lived so long before her and you will live so long after — but she also finds a small bit of comfort in the idea that she’ll never have to live without you.

Belos / Philip Wittebane

he’s been alive for far longer than he ever should have been because of his mission, so the idea of immortal entities isn’t difficult for him to believe. so upon finding out about your condition, he’s amazed but not necessarily startled by it — asking you about your origins and if there are more beings like you out there. if he truly cares about you, he’ll stick by you for as long as he’s able to keep his form stable — but if he doesn’t then he’ll just use you to find a way to complete his goal and lengthen his life further.

Boscha

boscha is someone else who wouldn’t believe you when you told her — going from genuine disbelief to shaky doubt to outright terrified denial and then through the stages of grief as she comes to terms with your condition. as sad as it sounds, this would probably end up being a deal breaker and would end your relationship as she would struggle too much with your past and future to be with you beyond that.

Camila Noceda

she doesn’t believe you at first, thinking that you’re just older than her as she’s seen some strange things but immortality is just so far beyond that. it takes her some time to come to terms with this but you do end up bonding over the losses you’ve experienced throughout your lives — you, your various lovers and friends, and her, luz’s father. she insists on learning your native language and teaching you hers so that you have an experience to remember her by.

Collector

having an immortal significant other would be the best case scenario for collector given his own life span. they wouldn’t have to worry about losing you prematurely and you’d be able to understand the issues he’s faced throughout their long life — whilst also having all the time in the world to grow with him and together as a couple. so they would be hopeful to have a spouse with this trait.

Darius Deamonne

this wouldn’t be a dealbreaker for darius but he would have a serious, long conversation about where you both stand and how your experiences would impact your relationship. he wouldn’t necessarily ask about your past relationships but he would be curious about older ages of magic on the isles and how other realms function — and especially how that can help the rebellion against belos.

Eberwolf

they’re pretty chill about the whole thing, honestly — like it rarely ever comes up in conversation so there’s no real impact on your relationship. you two just continue vibing together and spending the time you have wisely (by having fun) without the stresses such a realisation often bring. really they’re the best person you could have told — they only bring it up once or maybe twice and it’s only to make fun of you (lovingly, of course).

Eda Clawthorne

your immortality means that you have more knowledge of the world before belos and, thus, wild magic and magic as a whole. this means that eda will be looking to you to learn more about the owl beast, the history of those like her and if you ever came to know others with similar curses. she’d also insist on you teaching her about the people you loved and she’ll happily talk about raine (she’s far from the jealous type, but she is something of a gossip). she doesn’t care about making scrapbooks or taking pictures and prefers living in the moment with you and your family — living in the ‘doing’ world rather than focusing on capturing every little thing. you’ll look back on this with king and fleetingly wish you had more pictures, but the memory of her laugh and smile is tangible enough that neither of you feel like you’re missing out on too much.

Edric Blight

he will probably have something of an existential crisis about his own mortality when you tell him and would insist on finding a way to make himself live as long as you do. he starts comparing himself to the people you loved and lost and you’ll end up having to talk him into getting some help for it. your relationship will be permanently changed by this, but you will grow and heal with time — it’s just such a shock for him that he takes a bit of a mental health wobble whilst he comes to terms with it.

Emira Blight

em tends to bottle up her feelings a lot and will initially come off as very accepting and calm about the whole thing — but make no mistake this poor woman is one mislabelled jar of seasoning away from a breakdown. she’s now very aware of her own mortality and that she’s one of the probably dozens you’ve loved and lost and she’s absolutely terrified of being forgotten and lost to the sands of time. she’ll insist on keeping thorough, reliable records of your time together and by the time she’s old and you’re young you’ll be spending your last days together looking over them and laughing and crying and holding each other — finally ready to say goodbye.

Gus Porter

he will bombard you with questions about your life nonstop. did you ever live in the human realm? how has it changed? how has the boiling isles changed? there’s so much he wants to know and he has all the time in the world to listen to you talk — and he will note down everything you say and look at you with complete interest. so yeah he’ll still love you just as much as before, he’s just very nosy and eager to learn.

Hunter Wittebane

hunter is someone that would likely have a few hang-ups regarding true- and pseudo- immortality given his status as a clone/grimwalker. he’d have to do a lot of thinking regarding your relationship once he found out and a lot of serious conversations would be had about his natural lifespan compared to yours. in the end you would stay together and he’d be with you for a significant period of it (a few hundred years given him being similar to palismen) with him insisting that you don’t bring him back once he’s gone.

Lilith Clawthorne

she’d be absolutely entranced by your condition and would start fangirling over everything you must have experienced. you’ll end up getting interviewed and documented in every way possible as she asks about your history in and beyond the isles. though she might spend a bit more time on the deadwardian period than anything else (she’s biased, okay!).

Luz Noceda

luz would be amazed with you and would be eager to learn your story — as well as just about everything about you. she wants to learn your native language and hear about the cultures and people you knew throughout the years, especially if it involves some form of magic. she does, however, insist on making lots of memories with you and recording them so you never forget her.

Mattholomule

another one that doesn’t believe you but in mattholomule’s case he never ends up believing you. in his mind you’re just making a weird joke and there comes a point where you just stop trying to correct him and just live your life out with him — watching him grow old and grey whilst you remain the same. it’s on his death bed when he finally realises, but the life you shared was full of laughter and love so neither of you find it in yourselves to complain.

Odalia Blight

she is the type to use your status to her advantage which means that your relationship dynamic would inevitably shift. like she’d still care about you and be as affectionate as before, but she insists on showing you off and presenting herself as the wife of an immortal being in order to put herself above her fellow witches. you can tell her to knock it off. it will not work.

Raine Whispers

raine is heartbroken for you when they realise just how much you’ve lost throughout your life and they insist on memorialising your lost loved ones however they can. they help you write ballads for deceased lovers and learn to play songs from your home (even if their pronunciation is very shaky) because they care so deeply about you. they don’t talk about their concerns often, but they do ask that you remember them — and they leave you plenty of songs behind to do so.

Steve

as he’s quite possibly the most chilled out person in the boiling isles, steve doesn’t really care about the fact that you’re immortal. like when you tell him he’ll ask you a few questions about yourself and your past, but otherwise your relationship will stay the same and he’ll keep on keeping on. might expect the occasional cool story from your past, though, when you’ve both been drinking some apple blood.

Terra Snapdragon

she will most likely treat this as an opportunity to gain more power through your relationship. like she does care for you as you are her spouse at the end of the day, but she’s also incredibly power-hungry and having a partner who is immortal and has more experience than basically every other living entity is the ideal opportunity for her to get what she wants. so she definitely wouldn’t leave you, but the dynamic between the two of you would definitely change.

Viney

this wouldn’t be the end of your relationship but it would change a lot. viney insists on the two of you continuing to live in the moment together, focusing on making lasting memories doing things that you both love so that you never forget her. that means frequent fun dates, time spent teaching as a team, helping everyone you can and just spending time together doing what you love and having as much fun as you can whilst doing so.

Willow Park

willow is shocked by the revelation of your immortality but she doesn’t make too much of a big deal of it. like she will sit down with you and discuss anything you want to talk about, but generally your relationship remains unchanged. the only change is that she starts writing letters for you and hiding them — wanting to leave something behind for you once she’s gone.

[chaotic-orphan]

Hi! Can you please write more of The Immortal Hunter? I'm so invested

Hello!!! Yes! Absolutely, I forgot how much I liked this story, I hope you enjoy <3

The Immortal Hunter

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part four

*~*~*~*~*

They walked in silence except for their shoes crunching off of gravel. That was fine.

Killian had been through enough already today and last night, and Heath didn’t really want him to talk, he just felt like Killian needed to.

Or Killian was going to talk anyways, once he found the right words. There was the taste of anticipation heavy in the air between them, but Heath was fine with basking in the silence for now. Happy to let Killian mull it over as they walked down the archway of trees that lined the driveway to Felix’s estate.

The light was filtering through the tree’s leaves like shattered gem shards of topaz and the birds were chirping in the trees. It was shaping up to be a nice day, and with it, Heath felt a heavy longing for his mortality and let out a soft sigh.

“You…” Killian began, then faltered and stopped when Heath looked at him. “Thank you for everything you did, uh, did for me back there.”

“No problem,” said Heath easily in reply.

Killian spoke again and said: “no. I mean—“ then he sighed and broke off again so Heath stopped walking and turned to face the boy, pulling his little metal cigarette case from his back pocket.

Killian looked at Heath, an embarrassed blush colouring his cheekbones, right above where Wolfe had sliced into his cheek with his claw. Heath focused on the dried blood caked under the wound from the coagulation in his blood as he lit the cigarette between his teeth.

“I feel like “Thank you” isn’t enough for what you did for me.”

“It is enough.”

“No,” Killian protested, meeting Heath’s eyes with his blue ones and then looking away sheepishly, a hand going to the nape of his neck and rubbing it. “It isn’t. You said you would protect my s— my family no matter what happened…”

Heath nodded, exhaling smoke through his nostrils. “It’s what I would have wanted someone to do for me.”

“But you meant it…” Killian said, like it was a challenge and a gift much too sentimental and overwhelming for knowing someone for such a short time. “You said you would protect her— even after I didn’t tell you my first name or—“

“Hey, kid. It’s okay,” said Heath, voice gentle as he extended his hand to Killian. Killian looked up at Heath’s face then down at his hand and took it in his. The warmth of Killian’s palm was almost addictive, Heath longed for that comfort. He doubted Killian even valued how much his body worked to make sure it was heated at all times, not too hot, not too cold just perfect human temperature. Heath knew he never appreciated it, not until it was too late.

Something settled over Killian’s features, resolute and accepting as he gave Heath’s cold dead hand a good, firm shake.

Heath smiled softly, a little sadly, then dropped Killian’s hand.

“I was in the same position as you,” Heath continued, turning to walk further away from Felix’s mansion and prying ears. Killian easily fell into step beside him.

“In debt to Felix for family reasons that don’t matter anymore because my family is dead. Felix tried to tell me that before I signed my soul to him, but I refused to listen,” Heath said, voice turning wry towards the end of the sentence. He shot a smile over to Killian who’s eyebrows were knitted together in sympathy. “Who knew, right?”

Heath took another long inhale of smoke into his lungs, filling his dead tissue husk with the burnt remnants of tobacco. Somehow the two dead things twisted and combining together warmed him and made him feel as close to alive as he was ever going to get.

Except for maybe blood… blood sang to every nerve and muscle and organ in his body, craved it, clung to it and was never satisfied no matter how much or little he drank. The point of satiation would be producing his own blood in his body, like back when he was, y’know— alive, and that wasn’t ever going to happen so yes.

Blood and, a close second, smoking cigarettes, made him feel alive.

Or as alive as he could feel.

He remembered last night. His old knife in his hand, his blood lighting up the runes of the Hunters’ blade. Remembered his heart beating and the blood rushing through his ears like phantom limbs. Remembered the rush of breathlessness as he sunk the blade into Wolfe’s strong body and watched him crumble around it.

Remembered zoning out during the Hunter’s high and crashing back into his body with a wave of nausea and exhaustion hitting him like a truck.

Heath knew he was made to kill vampires, as all Hunters are. As the Immortal Hunter he knew he would spend eternity fighting and killing every last bloodsucker on the planet, protecting humans as best as he could, and when all the vampires would dead, so too could Heath rest in peace eternally.

That was his purpose.

His sole mission.

When Felix killed him he thought that was the end. That he failed and he doomed humanity to endure the vile, ruthless creatures in the night with no protector.

Wolfe yesterday seemed like a test, like the world was trying to figure out if he really wasn’t the immortal Hunter anymore, or if he was.

Heath nearly scoffed at his own thoughts. “Like the world was trying to figure out…” if the world was currently sitting at his dining table enjoying breakfast with Celeste and went by the name of Victor, then yes, as he would like to think of himself it, the world really wanted to answer that burning question, and answer it he did.

It gave Heath something he forgot he ever had.

Hope.

Hope that one day, someday soon, he could repay Felix the favour of death and be able to continue this life without having to suffer sadistic vampire.

Heath paused in his steps, eyes staring at the gravel road in front of him. Killian stopped too, looking over his shoulder at Heath. Heath realised he looked a bit crazy then, so he tapped his cigarette and watched the ashes flutter to the ground, mixing with the wide ranging palette of small grey stones.

The worst part was that Heath remembered. He remembered gripping the knife as Killian helped him to his feet, remembered holding onto it like a lifeline. He pushed Killian away and then tried to take a step and collapsed, and the knife…

“Heath? You okay?”

“Mmm,” Heath grumbled in reply. Maroon eyes finding inquisitive human ones peering back at him.

“The dagger that I killed Wolfe with,” Heath said, tilting his head, “did you see what I did with it?”

Killian turned to face Heath, folding his arms across his chest. “You— well, Felix told me it was part of some ritual you needed to complete.”

Heath let out a huff of breath from his nostrils, shaking his head. “I must have dropped it when I collapsed,” Heath said, taking in a quick puff of his cigarette. “Did you hear it clatter?”

“What’s so important about it?”

“It’s — uh, it’s like an extension of the Hunter’s arm. Very sacred, the dagger and the blood of a Hunter are what—“ Heath looked at Killian and smiled, not wanting to get into it in detail. “Sorry. Long story short, it kills vampires.”

Killian frowned. “And Felix had it?”

“Yes,” Heath said with an exhale of smoke, slipping the cigarette between his teeth. “He did. But if you didn’t hear it clatter to the ground then Felix must have it again…”

“I doubt he’s the type to just leave it lying around, even if you did drop it.”

“You’d be right,” Heath said, stretching his hands to sky and cracking his back, letting out a loud satisfied sigh as his wound up muscles loosened and cartilage cracked. “Ah, problem for another day. We can worry about that later.”

Heath started walking down the tree lined drive again with Killian following and falling into step beside him. “How can you be so nonchalant about that? Can’t that knife kill you?”

Heath shrugged. “A lot of things can kill me. That knife is not one of them. It’s the whole point of Hunter’s blood being needed for the dagger to work. Otherwise it’s just a normal knife. If it killed Hunters, it wouldn’t be that useful.”

“But you’re a vampire now,” Killian said, and Heath’s dead heart stuttered at the blatant truth so easily flowing from Killian’s lips. “From what Felix was saying today you, well, it seemed like you should still be human.”

“Mmm, first of my kind. I’m truly unique.”

“Does it not scare you?”

“Death?” Heath asked with a breath of laughter. He stopped waking, took the last pull of his cigarette, down to the butt, close enough for his fingers to feel the burn before dropping it and extinguishing it beneath his shoe. “That’s a bit too philosophical of a topic for a Thursday morning, Killian.”

“No, I mean—“ Heath smiled and put a hand on Killian’s shoulder silencing him.

“I know what you mean, but trust me when I say that there are things worse than death when it comes to Victor Felix. You almost experienced it first hand last night.”

“I… Wolfe attacked me last night, he was the one who took me and tied me up in the basement. He was the one who hurt me and—“

“Felix was the one willing to let Wolfe turn you or torture you to prove a point to me.”

The corner of Killian’s lips turned down into a scowl. “I’m not a pawn to be played in your and Felix’s game.”

“No, you’re not,” said Heath straightening up and taking his hand from Killian’s shoulder, to run it through his hair. “I’m just saying you should be more careful about what jobs you take for Felix.”

Killian went silent after that and Heath didn’t press him further on it as they walked out of the imposing wrought iron gates that sealed the estate away from the local town.

The gates that made it such a formidable foe when Heath was running, trying to escape Felix in the night. Worn and tired, human lungs gasping for air and heart pounding blood and adrenaline to fuel his body. He remembered coming up to see the always open gates shut and padlocked tight with chains.

He remembers shaking the gate and cursing under his breath and then throwing caution to the wind, gripping the iron bars and pulling himself up. He had only got a foot off the ground when a hand tightened in the back of his shirt, clenching the fabric into bunched up cold fist.

Heath froze.

He remembers hearing the low tsk of Felix and the smile in his voice. Felix didn’t do anything else. That small contact was enough to humiliate Heath, show him how powerless he really was.

“You can come back willingly and I promise I’ll only bleed you a little,” Felix purred, voice as deadly as Heath’s vampire slaying blade. He remembers tightening his grip on the bars until his knuckles turned white. Heath pressed his forehead against the cold bars, lamenting his freedom which was right there in front of him. He could’ve reached out and grabbed it.

If he was fast enough.

If he was strong enough.

If he was better.

Heath shuddered out a shaky exhale, feeling less of Felix’s cold dead hands on him. Unnatural hands.

“Or you can do this in your own special way, Heath,” Felix continued, voice almost fond. “In your penchant for raising Cain and really make me work up an appetite…”

Heath let out a pathetic cry of frustration into the night, rattling the gates along with his scream at the gates that were closed to him by Felix, for Felix’s own amusement. He liked his prey to run, he had told Heath that much after he tried to run so many times, told him he liked the high that adrenaline gives to the blood. Makes it sweeter, almost frenzied.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop feeding on you after you pass out if that’s the route you want to take, and you know, I would have to punish you for running away again once you wake up. You’ve been so good for me lately, Heath…” Felix’s fingers walked up Heath’s spine as far as they could and yanked Heath off the gate as if he wasn’t holding on at all.

Heath’s feet had barely hit the ground when in a flash he was pressed against the gate, his cheekbone digging into the metal as Felix rested his now clawed fingers on the nape of Heath’s neck. Heath pushed with all his might and struggled to get Felix off him but Felix didn’t falter. It was as if Heath wasn’t struggling at all.

Felix leaned in and sniffed Heath’s neck, smiling against the thin skin between his major veins and arteries, pumping the blood, the terror, the adrenaline, the life through his veins.

“Hard way it is,” he hummed, yanking Heath off the gates and dragging him away from them, kicking and fighting and screaming. “Dear boy, a chase and a fight and a feast. You’re really spoiling me tonight.”

Heath remembered it like it was yesterday. It feels like it was yesterday. Or maybe it was the fact that even after Felix took his humanity and turned him into an unnatural immortal thing, last night when it came down to it, when it came to Heath being able to protect Killian from Wolfe and Felix’s schemes, he couldn’t do a thing to stop them.

The moment Felix threw a casual arm over his shoulder and wrapped it tight around his torso he knew he couldn’t fight him off, let alone Wolfe.

His humanity, his dignity and his family— all traded for eternity as a leech, and still he was too weak to fight off the sadistic fucker who took everything he loved from him and left him with nothing except misery.

Heath looked at Killian walking beside him and he hated himself because he knew even now that the only reason Killian was walking with him back home, and not still tied up in Felix’s basement, is so Felix could dangle another good thing in Heath’s life to rip away. To leverage against him, to torture him with, to keep him in check and make sure he behaves.

Or else, went unsaid.

Behave or else Killian dies, or gets turned, or something worse that Felix could conjure up in his twisted mind. Heath just knew whatever it was would involve suffering.

And the worst part was that as far as Felix was dangling another good thing in front of him, Heath was too stubborn or too stupid to not take the bait and get in too deep.

Maybe their sick little game was doomed to continue for eternity, with new calamity as collateral with every new generation of humans.

“My home is just…” Killian began, tearing Heath from his thoughts. Killian stopped himself short, glancing over his shoulder at Heath. Heath nodded encouragingly, waiting for the answer for a beat too long before he realised and a smile spread across his face.

Heath nodded again, tilting his head at Killian. “You don’t want to tell me.”

“No,” said Killian after careful thought. “I don’t.”

“That’s okay.”

“Is it?”

“It is. Can you promise me you’ll get home safe?”

“Yes.”

“Can you promise Felix won’t come after you?”

Killian hesitated. Heath nodded and said, “then I’m coming, kid. Trust me it’s safer for us both.”

“How is it safer for me?” Killian demanded, nostrils flaring stepping closer to Heath, squaring up slightly. Heath grinned showing his fangs and took a small bit of sick pleasure at the slight falter on Killian’s face.

Heath stepped forward, closing the gap, exposing Heath’s clear height advantage and stared down at Killian waiting for him to back down.

Killian didn’t.

Despite it all.

He didn’t back down and Heath couldn’t help let out a soft happy laughter.

Killian frowned. “What?”

“I’m just impressed is all.”

“Thank you?” Killian asked.

Heath shook his head. “Never impress a vampire, Killian. If you listen to anything I say, listen to that. They’re obsessive things. Possessive things. They’ll steal your life to keep you because you’re entertaining.”

“You’re barely a vampire. You’re basically human.”

Heath sighed. “I was never human. I was a hunter, and then I was a vampire. Such is life. Now, you can either agree to show me where you live or I can wait — trust me, immortality gives you great patience — and I will follow you home when you eventually relent to check on your family —“

“Okay!” Killian huffed, throwing his hands up helplessly. “Fine! Why do you want to know so badly anyways?!”

Heath felt his face grow solemn, eyes turning poignant and lips almost pouting.

“I want to make sure Wolfe is dead and not coming for revenge, and I want to make sure Felix doesn’t come and take you away in the night. I don’t even need to go inside, just… let me watch over you tonight, and your family. Keep you safe.”

“I have work in the morning,” Killian said.

Heath shrugged, “then I’ll walk you to work.”

“You can’t protect me every minute of everyday,” Killian reasoned and Heath just shrugged again.

“I can try.”

Killian huffed, crossing his arms across his chest. “Is this another Hunter ritual thing?”

Heath smiled, a small genuine smile. “Yeah, something like that…”

Killian nodded, then turned and started walking. He gestured over his shoulder for Heath to follow and Heath did so in a comfortable silence, listening to the boy as he rambled on about how annoying the walk to work is in the morning, or when it’s raining.

Heath smiled as he spoke, unaware of the figure that was watching the pair between the trees.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

[patchworkorphan]

The Immortal Hunter: part five

They walked in silence except for their shoes crunching off of gravel. That was fine. Killian had been through enough already today and last night, and Heath didn’t really want him to talk, he just felt like Killian needed to.

Or Killian was going to talk anyways once he found the right words. There was the taste of anticipation heavy in the air between them, but Heath was fine with basking in the silence for now. Happy to let Killian mull it over as they walked down the archway of trees that lined the driveway to Felix’s estate. It was rather beautiful, a perfect place to wander and ponder, a good place to find words to speak.

The light was filtering through the tree’s leaves like shattered gem shards of topaz and the birds were chirping in the trees. It was shaping up to be a nice day, and with it, Heath felt a heavy longing for his mortality and let out a soft sigh.

“You…” Killian began, then faltered and stopped when Heath looked at him. “Thank you for everything you did, uh, did for me back there.”

“No problem,” said Heath easily in reply.

Killian spoke again and said: “no. I mean—” then he sighed and broke off again, so Heath stopped walking and turned to face the boy, pulling his little metal cigarette case from his back pocket.

Killian looked at Heath, an embarrassed blush colouring his cheekbones, right above where Wolfe had sliced into his cheek with his claw. Heath focused on the dried blood caked under the wound from the coagulation in his blood as he lit the cigarette between his teeth.

“I feel like “Thank you” isn’t enough for what you did for me.”

“It is enough.”

“No,” Killian protested, meeting Heath’s eyes with his blue ones and then looking away sheepishly, a hand going to the nape of his neck and rubbing it. “It isn’t. You said you would protect my s— my family no matter what happened…”

Heath nodded, exhaling smoke through his nostrils. “It’s what I would have wanted someone to do for me.”

“But you meant it…” Killian said, like it was a challenge and a gift much too sentimental and overwhelming for knowing someone for such a short time. “You said you would protect her— even after I didn’t tell you my first name or—”

“Hey, kid. It’s okay,” said Heath, voice gentle as he extended his hand to Killian. Killian looked up at Heath’s face then down at his hand and took it in his. The warmth of Killian’s palm was almost addictive, Heath longed for that comfort. He doubted Killian even valued how much his body worked to make sure it was heated at all times, not too hot, not too cold just perfect human temperature. Heath knew he never appreciated it, not until it was too late.

Something settled over Killian’s features, resolute and accepting as he gave Heath’s cold dead hand a good, firm shake.

Heath smiled softly, a little sadly, then dropped Killian’s hand.

“I was in the same position as you,” Heath continued, turning to walk further away from Felix’s mansion and prying ears. Killian easily fell into step beside him.

“In debt to Felix for family reasons that don’t matter anymore because my family is dead. Felix tried to tell me that before I signed my soul to him, but I refused to listen,” Heath said, voice turning wry towards the end of the sentence. He shot a smile over to Killian whose eyebrows were knitted together in sympathy. “Who knew, right?”

Heath took another long inhale of smoke into his lungs, filling his dead tissue husk with the burnt remnants of tobacco. Somehow the two dead things twisted and combining together warmed him and made him feel as close to alive as he was ever going to get.

Except for maybe blood… blood sang to every nerve and muscle and organ in his body, craved it, clung to it, and was never satisfied no matter how much or how little he drank. The point of satiation would be producing his own blood in his body, like back when he was, y’know— alive, and that wasn’t ever going to happen so yes.

Blood and, a close second, smoking cigarettes, made him feel alive.

Or as alive as he could feel.

He remembered last night. His old knife in his hand, his blood lighting up the runes of the Hunters’ blade. Remembered his heart beating and the blood rushing through his ears like phantom limbs. Remembered the rush of breathlessness as he sunk the blade into Wolfe’s strong body and watched him crumble around it.

Remembered zoning out during the Hunter’s high and crashing back into his body with a wave of nausea and exhaustion hitting him like a truck.

Heath knew he was made to kill vampires, as all Hunters are. As the Immortal Hunter he knew he would spend eternity fighting and killing every last bloodsucker on the planet, protecting humans as best as he could, and when all the vampires are dead, so too could Heath rest in peace eternally.

That was his purpose.

His sole mission.

When Felix killed him, he thought that was the end. That he failed and he doomed humanity to endure the vile, ruthless creatures in the night with no protector.

Wolfe yesterday seemed like a test, like the world was trying to figure out if he really wasn’t the immortal Hunter anymore, or if he was.

Heath nearly scoffed at his own thoughts. “Like the world was trying to figure out…” if the world was currently sitting at his dining table enjoying breakfast with Celeste and went by the name of Victor, then yes, as Felix would like to think of himself, the world really wanted to answer that burning question, and answer it he did.

It gave Heath something he forgot he ever had.

Hope.

Hope that one day, someday soon, he could repay Felix the favour of death and be able to continue this life without having to suffer sadistic vampire.

Heath paused in his steps, eyes staring at the gravel road in front of him. Killian stopped too, looking over his shoulder at Heath. Heath realised he looked a bit crazy then, so he tapped his cigarette and watched the ashes flutter to the ground, mixing with the wide-ranging palette of small grey stones.

The worst part was that Heath remembered. He remembered gripping the knife as Killian helped him to his feet, remembered holding onto it like a lifeline. He pushed Killian away and then tried to take a step and collapsed, and the knife…

“Heath? You okay?”

“Mmm,” Heath grumbled in reply. Maroon eyes finding inquisitive human ones peering back at him.

“The dagger that I killed Wolfe with,” Heath said, tilting his head, “did you see what I did with it?”

Killian turned to face Heath, folding his arms across his chest. “You— well, Felix told me it was part of some ritual you needed to complete.”

Heath let out a huff of breath from his nostrils, shaking his head. “I must have dropped it when I collapsed,” Heath said, taking in a quick puff of his cigarette. “Did you hear it clatter?”

“What’s so important about it?”

“It’s — uh, it’s like an extension of the Hunter’s arm. Very sacred, the dagger and the blood of a Hunter are what—” Heath looked at Killian and smiled, not wanting to get into it in detail. “Sorry. Long story short, it kills vampires.”

Killian frowned. “And Felix had it?”

“Yes,” Heath said with an exhale of smoke, slipping the cigarette between his teeth. “He did. But if you didn’t hear it clatter to the ground then Felix must have it again…”

“I doubt he’s the type to just leave it lying around, even if you did drop it.”

“You’d be right,” Heath said, stretching his hands to the sky and cracking his back, letting out a loud satisfied sigh as his wound up muscles loosened and cartilage cracked. “Ah, problem for another day. We can worry about that later.”

Heath started walking down the tree lined drive again with Killian following and falling into step beside him. “How can you be so nonchalant about that? Can’t that knife kill you?”

Heath shrugged. “A lot of things can kill me. That knife is not one of them. It’s the whole point of Hunter’s blood being needed for the dagger to work. Otherwise, it’s just a normal knife. If it killed Hunters, it wouldn’t be that useful.”

“But you’re a vampire now,” Killian said, and Heath’s dead heart stuttered at the blatant truth so easily flowing from Killian’s lips. “From what Felix was saying today you, well, it seemed like you should still be human.”

“Mmm, first of my kind. I’m truly unique.”

“Does it not scare you?”

“Death?” Heath asked with a breath of laughter. He stopped waking, took the last pull of his cigarette, down to the butt, close enough for his fingers to feel the burn before dropping it and extinguishing it beneath his shoe. “That’s a bit too philosophical of a topic for a Thursday morning, Killian.”

“No, I mean—” Heath smiled and put a hand on Killian’s shoulder silencing him.

“I know what you mean but trust me when I say that there are things worse than death when it comes to Victor Felix. You almost experienced it firsthand last night.”

“I… Wolfe attacked me last night; he was the one who took me and tied me up in the basement. He was the one who hurt me and—”

“Felix was the one willing to let Wolfe turn you or torture you to prove a point to me.”

The corner of Killian’s lips turned down into a scowl. “I’m not a pawn to be played in your and Felix’s game.”

“No, you’re not,” said Heath straightening up and taking his hand from Killian’s shoulder, to run it through his hair. “I’m just saying you should be more careful about what jobs you take for Felix.”

Killian went silent after that, and Heath didn’t press him further on it as they walked out of the imposing wrought iron gates that sealed the estate away from the local town.

The gates that made it such a formidable foe when Heath was running, trying to escape Felix in the night. Worn and tired, human lungs gasping for air and heart pounding blood and adrenaline to fuel his body. He remembered coming up to see the always open gates shut and padlocked tight with chains.

He remembers shaking the gate and cursing under his breath and then throwing caution to the wind, gripping the iron bars, and pulling himself up. He had only got a foot off the ground when a hand tightened in the back of his shirt, clenching the fabric into bunched up cold fist.

Heath froze.

He remembers hearing the low tsk of Felix and the smile in his voice. Felix didn’t do anything else. That small contact was enough to humiliate Heath, show him how powerless he really was.

“You can come back willingly, and I promise I’ll only bleed you a little,” Felix purred, voice as deadly as Heath’s vampire slaying blade. He remembers tightening his grip on the bars until his knuckles turned white. Heath pressed his forehead against the cold bars, lamenting his freedom which was right there in front of him. He could’ve reached out and grabbed it.

If he was fast enough.

If he was strong enough.

If he was better.

Heath shuddered out a shaky exhale, feeling less of Felix’s cold dead hands on him. Unnatural hands.

“Or you can do this in your own special way, Heath,” Felix continued, voice almost fond. “In your penchant for raising Cain and really make me work up an appetite…”

Heath let out a pathetic cry of frustration into the night, rattling the gates along with his scream at the gates that were closed to him by Felix, for Felix’s own amusement. He liked his prey to run, he had told Heath that much after he tried to run so many times, told him he liked the high that adrenaline gives to the blood. Makes it sweeter, almost frenzied.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop feeding on you after you pass out if that’s the route you want to take, and you know, I would have to punish you for running away again once you wake up. You’ve been so good for me lately, Heath…” Felix’s fingers walked up Heath’s spine as far as they could and yanked Heath off the gate as if he wasn’t holding on at all.

Heath’s feet had barely hit the ground when in a flash he was pressed against the gate, his cheekbone digging into the metal as Felix rested his now clawed fingers on the nape of Heath’s neck. Heath pushed with all his might and struggled to get Felix off him, but Felix didn’t falter. It was as if Heath wasn’t struggling at all.

Felix leaned in and sniffed Heath’s neck, smiling against the thin skin between his major veins and arteries, pumping the blood, the terror, the adrenaline, the life through his veins.

“Hard way it is,” he hummed, yanking Heath off the gates and dragging him away from them, kicking and fighting and screaming. “Dear boy, a chase and a fight and a feast. You’re really spoiling me tonight.”

Heath remembered it like it was yesterday. It feels like it was yesterday. Or maybe it was the fact that even after Felix took his humanity and turned him into an unnatural immortal thing, last night when it came down to it, when it came to Heath being able to protect Killian from Wolfe and Felix’s schemes, he couldn’t do a thing to stop them.

The moment Felix threw a casual arm over his shoulder and wrapped it tight around his torso he knew he couldn’t fight him off, let alone Wolfe.

His humanity, his dignity, and his family— all traded for eternity as a leech, and still he was too weak to fight off the sadistic fucker who took everything he loved from him and left him with nothing except misery.

Heath looked at Killian walking beside him and he hated himself because he knew even now that the only reason Killian was walking with him back home, and not still tied up in Felix’s basement, is so Felix could dangle another good thing in Heath’s life to rip away. To leverage against him, to torture him with, to keep him in check and make sure he behaves.

Or else, went unsaid.

Behave or else Killian dies, or gets turned, or something worse that Felix could conjure up in his twisted mind. Heath just knew whatever it was would involve suffering.

The worst part was that as far as Felix was dangling another good thing in front of him, Heath was too stubborn or too stupid to not take the bait and get in too deep.

Maybe their sick little game was doomed to continue for eternity, with new calamity as collateral with every new generation of humans.

“My home is just…” Killian began, tearing Heath from his thoughts. Killian stopped himself short, glancing over his shoulder at Heath. Heath nodded encouragingly, waiting for the answer for a beat too long before he realised, and a smile spread across his face.

Heath nodded again, tilting his head at Killian. “You don’t want to tell me.”

“No,” said Killian after careful thought. “I don’t.”

“That’s okay.”

“Is it?”

“It is. Can you promise me you’ll get home safe?”

“Yes.”

“Can you promise Felix won’t come after you?”

Killian hesitated. Heath nodded and said, “then I’m coming, kid. Trust me it’s safer for us both.”

“How is it safer for me?” Killian demanded, nostrils flaring stepping closer to Heath, squaring up slightly. Heath grinned showing his fangs and took a small bit of sick pleasure at the slight falter on Killian’s face.

Heath stepped forward, closing the gap, exposing Heath’s clear height advantage, and stared down at Killian waiting for him to back down.

Killian didn’t.

Despite it all.

He didn’t back down and Heath couldn’t help letting out a soft happy laughter.

Killian frowned. “What?”

“I’m just impressed is all.”

“Thank you?” Killian asked.

Heath shook his head. “Never impress a vampire, Killian. If you listen to anything I say, listen to that. They’re obsessive things. Possessive things. They’ll steal your life to keep you because you’re entertaining.”

“You’re barely a vampire. You’re basically human.”

Heath sighed. “I was never human. I was a hunter, and then I was a vampire. Such is life. Now, you can either agree to show me where you live or I can wait — trust me, immortality gives you great patience — and I will follow you home when you eventually relent to check on your family —”

“Okay!” Killian huffed, throwing his hands up helplessly. “Fine! Why do you want to know so badly anyways?!”

Heath felt his face grow solemn, eyes turning poignant and lips almost pouting.

“I want to make sure Wolfe is dead and not coming for revenge, and I want to make sure Felix doesn’t come and take you away in the night. I don’t even need to go inside, just… let me watch over you tonight, and your family. Keep you safe.”

“I have work in the morning,” Killian said.

Heath shrugged, “then I’ll walk you to work.”

“You can’t protect me every minute of every day,” Killian reasoned, and Heath just shrugged again.

“I can try.”

Killian huffed, crossing his arms across his chest. “Is this another Hunter ritual thing?”

Heath smiled, a small genuine smile. “Yeah, something like that…”

Killian nodded, then turned and started walking. He gestured over his shoulder for Heath to follow and Heath did so in a comfortable silence, listening to the boy as he rambled on about how annoying the walk to work is in the morning, or when it’s raining.

Heath smiled as he spoke, unaware of the figure that was watching the pair between the trees.

[ampresandian]

I know Thalia was "saved from death" by her father turning her into a pine tree but I feel like maybe there was a connection to that when she chose to become a Hunter? Like she so nearly died she got turned into a tree to save the last vestiges of her, it probably felt like she died. It was probably painful, and terrifying, and then everything was just dark for a few years, and I think there's probably a part of her that would be scared that that's what death is going to be like for her, you know?

Anyway I just feel like I can understand why she might want to be a Hunter & have that immortality, in addition to not wanting to be the Prophecy Kid.

[rhysknees]

What to Read Next

[thegreateggbandit]

… what

… WHAT

World War I?!?! NANCY HOW OLD ARE YOU?!?!!?

[seabunnieart]

took a break from comms for a personal thing...

my oc kuro.

[berryblooo]

We’re about to get the 1.2 update and finally learn some more about the tumultuous past between Dan Heng, Blade, Jing Yuan, and Jingliu but god if I’m not more than a little happy for the first three that they’ve found a new community and family after their previous one was lost.

Dan Heng has the Express crew.

My hope for him in the story is that he has a moment where he realizes how much they’ve come to mean to him. He’s been so focused on running from his past that maybe he forgets to cherish the present.

Jing Yuan is the general for the Luofu. The whole ship looks to him for leadership.

He’s no longer that little boy looking to his master for guidance. He has Yanqing, Fu Xuan, Yukong, Tingyun—the whole Luofu.

Blade has the Stellaron Hunters.

It can be seen as purely transactional. Blade is a useful weapon and they’ll give him what he desires: death. But the little details the story sprinkles in—Kafka calling him Bladie, him accompanying Silver Wolf to arcades—shows that there’s fondness too.

I highlighted these three specifically because I don’t know if or think that Jingliu has found something else since the quintet.

Her appearance in Yanqing’s quest leads me to believe otherwise. She and Blade are very similar—struck with Mara and having certain ways to control it, yet all the more disconnected from reality and dangerous for it.

But the crucial difference is Blade has people he can rely on. It’s clear the Stellaron Hunters take care of each other in their own unorthodox way, even if it’s just following Elio’s script.

Jingliu doesn’t.

TL;DR found family matters. Those four were once family and their most important connections, then it fell apart.

Three of them have managed to find other people in their grief and it makes all the difference.

[paingoes]

Crash Out

Nimrod I

see attached graphic here :)

(Content: royal whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, immortal whumper, blood, stabbing, a gun, death?, drugs, paranoia)

The whole planet was an experiment. They really weren’t supposed to be there. It was ecologically irresponsible. Her curiosity was too piqued to just drive by it, though. The conservancy didn’t have the budget to secure the entire perimeter; it was too easy to get inside. 

The climate was held in permanent stasis. The whole environment was in permanent stasis. The displaced grass quickly replaced itself. The daisies sprung up again wherever they were plucked. The energy that went into maintaining the project was extravagant. By her own estimate, Lorelai guessed it wouldn’t last another year before shutting down. Then the rock would be barren again. The thought helped her to justify the breach; nothing like it would ever exist again.

The ship was tucked safely beneath the treeline, obscured from any drones. They were halfway in between it and the hot springs — deathly heat, the kind that’d melt all your skin off if you ever dipped into its waters. She’d skirted the edge of it nonetheless. Her dress was damp at the edges. The sky was still bright. 

She was taking notes in the field journal, the same one she’d saved from her school days. She wished she could send the revised version back to her advisor, but that would raise more questions than it was worth. She was content saving it for her own personal record. She glanced up at Paris, who was visibly disinterested in the experiment. He yanked out the grass and the flowers restlessly, watching as they were regrown each time. He ripped out one dandelion over and over again, tying all of its clones into a chain. He had the start of a crown in his lap.

“Who taught you how to do that?” Lorelai asked, her voice heavy with suspicion. No other girls, yeah, totally.

Paris looked up guiltily. “…My mom?”

She shrugged and looked back out to the horizon. Four legged and horned creatures with legs taller than her entire body walked about the tall grass. Slow-moving. Easy. She wondered if the regenerative effect would work the same on the animals. She readjusted the shotgun on her back, hearing it thud against the soil.

“Is it weird that I want to go hunting? My dad offered all the time when I was little, but I always said no. I should’ve.”

“What, you have a taste for it now?” Paris asked.

He was joking, but he’d been dangerously close to the truth. She thought of death a lot — death and violence. All her childhood, she had dreamed of the things she did not see. By now, that gap had been closed with no abstraction. She was on the other side of it – and she wanted to be good. She wanted to see that she still had control of it, to make sure she could roll it around in her fingers and see it without flinching. Without crying afterwards. 

Not that she herself was violent. Never sadistic. Two bullets straight through the heart. She could not have been more efficient. She kept thinking about CTRL.

“Little bit.” She smiled and adjusted her hat to cast a shadow over her face. 

“I don’t know how to close it.” Paris looked down at the long chain of flowers in his hand. 

“Just knot it?” She took it from him, trying to knot the stems together. They were weirdly slippery. 

“Fuck,” she said.

His laugh cut off mid-breath. He had straightened up so abruptly that made her flinch, his expression turning deathly serious. His eyes were set on the forest, each line of his body drawn in sharp tension. She looked over. A figure was emerging slowly from among the rows of trees.

“Warden?” She raised an eyebrow. They’d been surprisingly good at not running in with the law, all things considered. You don’t break the law while breaking the law, as the old adage goes. Even a minor trespassing charge would be major trouble just as soon as the cops realized who they were dealing with. They’d have to flee. 

Paris didn’t even hear her. His hand slowly withdrew the sword from its sheath. Her eyes widened at the escalation. But when she looked back to the figure, she realized why.

Two long braids, two leather gloves, pacing unbidden and unhurried. Lorelai recognized her from her gait more than anything else. The girl from the show – many, many shows back. The one who’d gotten her torso slashed through and the one who’d been walking around again straight after. The one who had waved goodbye at them so unselfconsciously, without any finality at all. The bounty hunter.

Mechanically, Lorelai slid the gun off her back. She aimed it square at Johanna’s heart.

“Do you want me to take the shot?” She asked Paris. He looked at her with his brow furrowed, no doubt remembering last time. It would not be like last time.

“I said I’d do it.”

It was almost hysterical how slow the threat was approaching. It had to be deliberate, Lorelai thought. Her way of drawing him out. And he did move out. Lorelai scooted back some, putting space between herself and the coming carnage.

“Hi-i-i.” The voice rose and fell strangely. Close enough to see the whites of her eyes, then to see them winking. She was unarmed again. What did she expect, really? 

It wasn’t immediate, to be fair. Johanna danced away from the first lunge, her boots treading surprisingly lightly against the soil. She did a needlessly showy back handspring, inverting the pursuit, drawing him in closer. Cartwheel — meaningless. Even from a distance, Lorelai saw Paris’s nose wrinkle in disgust at the frivolity of it all. He cleared the distance between them and stabbed her through the heart, just as gracefully as if it’d been a drill. 

Johanna fell like a play actor. The sword was briefly the only thing holding her up — and then it wasn’t. She crumbled into the grass without having landed a single hit.

The fall had not been very convincing, despite the grievousness of the injury spelling certain death. When he stepped closer to the body, she almost warned him to stay back, as though the dead hand would spring out and grab him like in a monster movie. He too wavered before he touched her. But when he felt at her wrist, he shook his head. Dead.

Lorelai felt it too. There was no pulse in her arm or in her throat, not even a faint one. Dead.

Johanna was still smiling when they turned her limp body over.

=======

Old Fort Kroll - stabbed through heart - seven days to reappear

Aloquois - multiple bullet wounds - four days to reappear. paris got lightly stabbed.

Mercollie - punched in face, not downed - two days to reappear. broke my nail.

Gilynigh - stabbed through heart and neck 

two weeks of absence

=======

Paris felt his hair stand on end only seconds before the blow came; she must have been moving very quickly to trip up his alarm like that. Not that he’d seen it. The first he saw of her, he was already on the ground, just glimpsing the worn leather of her boots. He rolled forward, pushing back with the hard side of his forearm when she tried to kick him back down. She was briefly off-balance –  not enough to fall completely, but it gave him enough space to stand. He could draw the sword again.

She was holding a chain.

He gave a short, choked laugh. The joke was lost on her. There wasn’t any time to explain it.

It was a common enough weapon, but unsophisticated enough that he’d never been taught to fight against it. The closest thing he’d fought was the net. In that case, he needed to have the advantage of proximity. His body desperately resisted this, having a deep instinctual urge to get far away from her. He suppressed it.

She dodged just the same way she had the first time, neatly dancing aside. She pushed him back with surprising torque, but she’d had to expose her arm to do it. The blade drew blood. She seemed excited by it. 

“Your H-i-i-i-ghness,” her breath was all sing-song. Her veins twitched right beneath the skin, squirming around like worms, “You always fight the same.”

A little frown, like she was bored of him. He was fucking exhausted of her.

The chain came down fast and hard over his weapon hand. The impact of steel on his knuckles alone would’ve made him lose his grip, even if she hadn’t yanked the chain back. His own fingers slipped out before they could be broken, but the shock of pain had made them useless. 

She was happy to let the sword clatter to the ground rather than keep it, so she still had one weapon instead of having an offhand. It was still unfavorable. Even if she was unarmed, it was still unfavorable. They hit with the same amount of force. Her injuries would heal before the bout had even ended; his wouldn’t. 

She must’ve thought he’d be easier to handle if he was on the ground, because that’s where she kept forcing him.

She was on top of him again, trying to pin him down by the shoulders. He guessed he should count himself lucky that she was only trying to subdue him, not actually hurt him, but she was quickly learning she could not do the one without the other. He thrashed around too much, ready to injure himself against the restraints if she was too slow to do it herself. It was a bloody business.

It was interrupted as one heel cracked straight into the side of Johanna’s head. He rolled out from under her, using the chain to garrote her. It was only partly successful; she’d managed to slip a few fingers in to protect her neck. Lorelai watched just a few feet away, blood on her shoes. She had the gun on her, but it was no use with their bodies intertwined so close. 

Johanna slammed the back of her skull into Paris’s face. He had to release her to avoid repeated impact. Enough distance was created. Lorelai pistol-whipped her.

Paris moved for the sword again. Johanna growled. Lorelai waved him back. He listened; his nerves were spent. Johanna somersaulted back onto her feet, pushing herself up.

“Who are you again?” She squinted at Lorelai, her arms held out with a gymnast’s posture. 

“Back up.” Lorelai leveled the gun. “Don’t follow us.”

“You look expensive!” Johanna replied.

Lorelai must have interpreted the hands up for surrender, which Paris never would have. She got into the ship without firing, but without ever losing her target. Johanna folded her arms, looking very annoyed as the ship pulled away.

Paris pressed the already bloodied handkerchief tight against his nose — not broken this time. Just painful. He felt the blood in his throat when he spoke.

“Don’t get involved,” he said.

Lorelai’s eyes shifted right, “If I didn’t get involved, you’d be dead ten times over.”

“No I wouldn’t,” he shook his head, then it made him dizzy, so he stopped, “She isn’t trying to kill me. There’s nothing stopping her with you, though. I don’t want you in the middle of it.”

“Well, it’s a little late for that.”

=======

Drea - hand cut off, not downed - three days to reappear

Epsilon-55 - shot in head - seven days to reappear

Baleen - false alarm - paris cut himself :(

Perseye - shot through chest - ten days to reappear. burnt my fingers.

Lutal - stabbed in heart and stomach - five days to reappear. not doing well.

======

Paris was falling apart. He was trying not to show it, but the anxiety revealed itself in each twitch of his fingers, each jump at sudden sounds, each flinch at sudden movements. His hands moved up to protect his chest whenever Lorelai so much as reached into the backseat too quickly. 

He had been paranoid before. It seemed impossible that he could get any worse. Apparently, that assessment was premature. The knot of tension was so tight in his body that Lorelai was sure he would drop dead of fear before anyone else ever got their turn with him. Maybe that would have been a mercy.

She supposed she could understand. She too was always waiting for the eruption, even if her body didn’t bear the marks of it. She only slept while he kept vigil. When she awoke, he still kept vigil. She guessed it had been days since he last slept.

Out on the motel balcony, she found him with the pills in his hand.

“Don’t take that,” she said tiredly.

“Fuuuuuuck you????” He’d already taken it. He looked at her crookedly, red-eyed. His neck was bleeding through the bandage, though he hadn’t noticed yet.

“You are too wound up to be taking meth pills. Your heart’s gonna stop.” She almost begged him. He did not need to be tweaking any harder than he already was. 

“It’s not meth.”

“Then what is it?” She hoped against hope it was some kind of downer, anything to cool him out some.

“I don’t know, but it sure as shit wasn’t meth,” he laughed.

A car alarm went off in the parking lot. He jumped so bad he knocked the side table over, breaking glass onto the balcony, spilling the cigarette ash. A thin cut appeared on his calf. He took a deep breath.

Paris freaked out. He said he’d earned it. Truth be told, she was surprised it had taken this long. She didn’t see the meltdown, but she could hear it through the open window. It amazed her just how long it could go on. How long he could sustain the yelling. How much he could find to break. The abruptness with which it stopped.

He came back in out of breath, ready to leave again. 

…………

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